


A Very Supernatural Christmas

by italiandancer1275



Series: Supernatural [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Gods, Supernatural - Freeform, fudge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-06-29 16:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19834189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/italiandancer1275/pseuds/italiandancer1275
Summary: Your first holiday with the Winchesters. Will it be filled with Christmas cheer, or will this most recent case chew you up and spit you out?Y/N= Your nameY/N/N= Your nickname





	1. Knowledge Gaps

It had been several weeks since the news of Gordon Walker’s death had set you free. No more looking over your shoulder, no more nightmares, and definitely no more PTSD every time you looked down at your forearm. You sat in the passenger seat of Bobby’s truck, the wind whipping your hair back. The two of you were heading through Michigan at the moment to drop you off to team up with the Winchesters. They had mentioned that they were doing a small hunt up in Ypsilanti and Bobby had thought it would be a nice idea for you to lend some help. Though a bit out of character for him, you had your suspicions that Bobby’s “business” up north was something personal and he didn’t want you tagging along. It also didn’t help that since the news of Gordon’s demise, you had been living it up; drinking too much, staying out too late, and just genuinely having a good time. You felt you had earned it. But it probably worried Bobby; hence why he was dropping you off to stay with a couple babysitters. On any other time, you would have called him on it, but not this month. It was the Christmas season and you honestly felt like you were the only hunter in the world who actually enjoyed it. Seriously, not a single traumatic experience had plagued you during Christmastime.

Bobby pulling over on a street in the suburbs interrupted your Christmas reminiscing and you recognized the impala parked at the fourth house. Exiting the car, you could hear voices inside, apparently finishing up a conversation. “You want me to wait for them?” Bobby questioned. “Nah, they seem to be finishing up, go handle whatever it is you need to.” You waved as Bobby drove off, walking over to lean on the impala. It wasn’t long before two very large men in suits walked out of the house and noticed you. Giving them a two-finger salute, you saw Sam’s face light up and his pace quicken to go give you a hug. “Hey stranger. We were wondering when you were gonna show up.” After patting Sam on the back awkwardly, you responded. “Yea, well, Bobby works in mysterious ways.” Dean laughed and added in his two cents. “I’m just glad we got a little notice this time, it was getting creepy, you just showing up everywhere.” You eyed him and looked to Sam, “Well, what do ya got?”

The boys filled you in on the way to the motel room. Apparently people were being sucked up the chimney and murdered or beaten. A very un-Christmassy thing to do. Dean dropped you and Sam off to start a bit of research as he went to grab some food for the three of you. You and Sam immediately shifted into focus; you checking Pagan lore while Sam looked at Central European myths, both of you finding some overlap of what you could be up against. You didn’t even realize hours had passed until Dean walked into the room. “So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Sam didn’t even take his eyes off the laptop before answering. “Yep. It’s, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.” You smirked. That had been your first thought as well, though apparently not Dean’s. “Who?” Both of you looked to him incredulously, Sam clarifying. “Mary Poppins.”

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, come on—never mind.” For being such a movie buff, Dean really did have a big knowledge gap. Though that could definitely have been a choice. Regardless, Dean scratched his head and changed the subject. “Well it turns out that Walsh was the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this morning” Well that explains why the food took so long. Sam responded, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?”

“Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof.” Well that Christmas Carol took a turn. “So, what the hell do you think we’re dealing with?” Sam shifted in his seat. “Actually we came up with an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s, uh, it’s gonna sound crazy.”

“What could you possible say that sounds crazy to me?” Fair point, Sam was probably still missing a shoe just from that one case in Black Rock. Though the theory the two of you had come up with was pretty close. “Um…evil Santa.”

“Yeah, that’s crazy.” You decided to take over. “Well, what he actually meant to say was that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture. You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, it’s everywhere and has the lore to back it up.” Sam had passed Dean the photos the two of you compiled as he voiced his curiosity. “Saying what?”

“That back in the day Santa’s brother went dark, and now he shows up around Christmastime. But, instead of bringing gifts, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?”

“Well, that’s one way, yeah.”

“So this is what the two of you spent the afternoon working on. That it was Santa’s shady brother?” Sam defensively interceded, “We’re just saying that that’s what the lore says.”

“But Santa doesn’t have a brother, there is no Santa”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told me that in the first place, remember.” You glanced up from some documents to see Dean look down, guilt painting his features. Sam had refocused back on his laptop and mirrored his brother’s sigh. “Yea, you know what, we could be wrong. I…(he sighed sharply) gotta be wrong.” Sam’s little brother complex was showing. You had never seen him second-guess himself like this before, and just from a suggestion. You felt…uncomfortably intimate, not wanting to know this much about them. It was invasive. Dean broke your thought process, “Maybe, maybe not.”

“What?”

“I did a little digging—turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched.”

“Where?”...


	2. Walking In A Winter Wasteland

When Dean had said that every person had visited “Santa’s Village”, this was certainly not what you had in mind. The buildings were run down and what was supposed to be magical, really was just another town in the mid-west trying it’s best. You were literally walking on gravel, staring at some dirty reindeer and elf costumes meant to entertain children but in reality, would probably give them nightmares. You walked to Dean’s left, Sam on his other side. Dean said what the three of you were likely thinking, “It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Sam responded. “Yea, but, _anti-Claus?_ (he scoffed) Couldn’t be.” You didn’t care how much Dean got into Sam’s psyche. Your theory remained. It was the only one the lore supported, so until proven otherwise, that’s what you were going with. He wasn’t _your_ older brother.

Dean interrupted your mental rant, “It’s a Christmas miracle. Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year.” Sam questioned, “Have one what?”

“A Christmas. You, me, hell even Y/N.” You turned your head in Dean’s direction sarcastically. “Oh, I’m invited?”

“Why not? We’ll get a tree, a little Boston market—Just like when Sam and I were little.” You weren’t paying too much attention to Dean’s tangent. You preferred to clock your surroundings and look for any indications of Shady Claus. Plus, hearing about what Christmas was like for the boys would make you sad. You only had happy memories connected with the holiday and to dwell on a Winchester childhood was one of a select group of triggers. Apparently Sam too, “Dean, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for me, ya know?”

“What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.” _Debatable._ Sam sent a snarky comment back. “Whose childhood are you talking about?” You wanted to get away from the situation; it was getting a bit too personal for your touch and both Dean and Sam were getting defensive. “Oh, c’mon Sam.”

“No, just…no”. Yea, you weren’t gonna touch that one with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole. After coughing off the awkwardness, you marched ahead of the guys hearing Dean give a last, “Alright, Grinch.” You heard his and Sam’s footsteps catch up to you as you stared at what was supposed to be a Christmas tree lot. Dean tapped your arm. “You’d think with the ten bucks that it cost to get into this place Santa could scrounge up a little snow.” You sighed, “Yea, it’s not exactly a winter wonderland.” Sam finally caught up, voicing his confusion, “What?” Dean turned to him. “Nothing. What are we looing for again?” Sam thought, “Um…” his earlier uncertainty was returning. “The lore said that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets,” you supplied. The three of you walking once more. Dean commented, “Great, so we’re looking for a pimp Santa. Why the sweets?” Sam, gaining confidence in the lead spoke up, “Think about it, Dean. If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer, you know?”

“That’s creepy. How does this thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?”

“I don’t know.” You all finally reached your destination and stopped in front of the drug store Santa the place scrounged up for the kids. He coughed roughly. “So Ronny, come up here and sit on Santa’s lap. Ah, there you go. You been a good boy this year?” The kid nodded. “Good. Santa’s got a special gift for _you._ ” He chuckled gruffly. _Someone call the authorities, your current occupation be damned._

Dean interjected, answering his own question from before, “Maybe we do.” You heard one footstep to your left and snapped your head, seeing an elf (probably the only one actually trying to do her job well) approach the three of you. “Welcome to Sana’s court. Can I escort your child to Santa?” Before you could even think of a good lie, Dean opened his mouth. “N-no, no. Uh, but, actually, my brother here—it’s been a lifelong dream of his.” You sighed, rolling your eyes. The elf was clearly confused. “Uh, sorry. No kids over…12.” Sam stood there shaking his head, clearly embarrassed. “No, he’s just kidding. We only came here to watch.” _Go ahead and cuff us officer._ You quickly interjected, trying to do some damage control, “Uh, no, he’s um—“

“Ew” She interrupted and walked away, clearly going to get a manager of some sort. Sam tried to better the situation, calling after her, “I-I didn’t mean that we came her to w--“ You closed your eyes and sighed in frustration. There was no fixing that. Sam turned to Dean. “Thanks a lot Dean. Thanks for that.” He chuckled, but Santa standing up caught your eye. A sweet scent enveloped your nose as you also noted that his gait was uneven…almost like he was walking with a…

“Are you seeing this?” Dean asked in shock. “A lot of people walk with limps, right?”

“Tell me you didn’t smell that. That was candy, man.”

“That was ripple—I think. Had to be.”

“Maybe. We willing to take that chance?” Dean looked to both you and Sam. You answered. “Your case, your call. Personally, I like to leave no rock unturned.” Sam sighed, giving in to actually following this lead on the anti-Claus for the first time since Dean placed doubt in his mind.


	3. Round The Table

You felt the need of sleep weigh on your eyelids as you sat in the back of the Impala, chin resting on the seat in front of you. Staring at the deathtrap that creepy Santa called a house for hours on end had taken its toll. Dean let out a yawn as he asked, “What time is it?” Sam responded, “Same as the last time you asked. Here (He pulled out the giant thermos that the three of you had been sharing). Caffeinate.” Dean sighed and took the can. Pouring it into the cap-turned-cup, not a single drop escaped the canister. “Wonderful.” He threw it on the passenger floor and you hadn’t even noticed that your eyes had fully closed until you heard but didn’t see Dean turn around to check on you. Assuming you were asleep, he broke the silence. “Hey, Sam…”

“Yeah?”

“…Why are you the boy that hates Christmas?”

“Dean…”

“I mean, I admit it—you know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.”

_“Bumpy?”_

“That was then. We’ll do it right this year.”

“Look, Dean, if you want to have Christmas, knock yourself out. Just don’t involve me.”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be great—Me and Y/N making cranberry molds” You decided it was time to interject. “Still never agreed I’d do it.”

Dean jumped in his seat a bit, “Hey, you never disagreed either.” Sam had gone a bit pale, realizing that you had been present for all the melodrama. Changing the subject, he interrupted, “Hey, what’s up with Saint Nicotine?” You shut your mouth and looked, seeing the perp close his curtains suspiciously. There was an eerie silence until a woman screaming prompted the three of you into action. Readying your gun, you took a center position with Sam in front and Dean bringing up the rear. Arriving at the door, Sam chuckled. Dean turned around. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that, uh…well, you know, Mr. Gung Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa.” You shoved in front of Sam to open the door. “Not the time,” you scolded him. Opening it quickly, Dean rushed in followed by you and Sam. You immediately clocked it. The porn on the television screen. The man stood quickly, clearly drunk and getting angrier by the minute. “What the hell are you doing here?” He was slurring his words and Sam and Dean looked to each other, both lost for words. Sam managed a quick, “Uhh…” as Dean cleared his throat. Coming up with a good lie, you opened your mouth to speak… except that you were once again interrupted…by Dean…singing. _“S-Silent night.”_ Eyes wide, you looked at him as he cleared his throat once more. _“Holy night”_ Sam joined in at this point and Dean swatted your arm. Shaking your head no, the boys continued singing. _“All is well”_ Another arm swat from Dean, but you refused. You didn’t sing. At least not in the caroling sense. The man was clearly too drunk to even remember this anyway. He started joining in himself. _“All is dry.”_ So here you were, watching three idiots sing an extremely off-key Christmas song until you finally decided to jingle the zipper on your jacket so as not to look too suspicious. _“Round and round…the table…”_ You started backing up pulling both men by their jackets outside with you. The drunk was back on his chair on the verge of passing out before you even made it out the door.

Once outside, Dean shoved your arm lightly. “What the hell was that?”

“That? Oh, that was you making an ass out of yourself.”

“Oh, like you could’ve found a better cover.”

“Anything. Literally any other lie.”

“Whatever. Point is, we sing, you sing, capeesh?”

“Honestly, how could I top that? Plus it sounds like you guys already have an alto so…” Dean stared at you sharply until he turned his head and walked away. You made eye contact with Sam and he mirrored your smirk. Pissing Dean off was a surefire way to spread Christmas cheer.


	4. Neon Signs

After very few hours of sleep, you were woken up to the news that there was another attack, only this one had witnesses. You arrived at the house and immediately went to the scene of the initial crime to inspect the bedroom. Sam and Dean stayed downstairs to question the woman who had watched her husband be kidnapped and who had taken a hit herself. You scoped out the blood stained carpet, looking for anything of interest; a fiber, fingernail, anything to lead you to the unsub. After finding nothing but the blood, you made your way downstairs to hear Mrs. Caldwell give a clear, “Excuse me?” You looked to the boys, wondering which of them had offended her. An awkward silence filled the air until Sam spoke, “Just curious, you know.” She answered the question and the three of you left, thanking her for her time.

“Wreaths, huh?” said Dean. You spoke, “So that’s what that was about.” Dean snickered. “Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.” You paid no mind to Dean’s jabs. You knew Sam well enough at this point to know that he didn’t ask irrelevant questions. It only took the one context clue for it to click. But Dean needed a little prompting, so Sam explained with a scoff, “We’ve seen that wreath before, Dean.”

“Where?”

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.” You had to give it to Sam. His attention to detail was pretty impressive.

The older Winchester retorted, “I know—I was just testing you.” You got into the back of the impala without even gracing the comment with an eye roll.

Later, back at the motel, you were on the phone with Bobby. It had started as your usual check-in, but since the theory of dark Santa had fallen through, you wanted to talk this one out a bit with someone who was as straightforward as you were.

“Yeah.”

“Well, shouldn’t be too much longer up here. You be safe, y’hear?”

“All right. Well, keep looking wouldja?”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Yep.” And with that he hung up the phone. You turned to the brothers. “Well, we’re not dealing with the anti-Claus.” Dean looked up from the papers he was sifting through and Sam readied his fingers at his laptop. Dean spoke, “What did Bobby say?”

“That we’re morons. He also said that it was probably meadowsweet in those wreaths Sam noticed.”

“That we ALL noticed, thank you. And what the hell is meadowsweet?”

“It’s pretty rare, and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore.” Sam finally looked up from his laptop. “Yeah, I’ve actually read about that. They used meadowsweet for human sacrifices. It was kind of like a…chum for their gods. Gods were drawn to it, and they’d stop by and snack on whatever was the nearest human.”

“Bobby said the same thing.” Dean stood up at this point. “Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Sam looked back down at his computer to answer Dean. “You know, it’s not as crazy as it sounds, Dean. I mean, pretty much every Christmas tradition _is_ pagan.” You actually already knew that. But apparently Dean didn’t. “Christmas is Jesus’ birthday.”

“No, Jesus’ birthday was probably in the fall. It was actually the Winter Solstice Festival that was co-opted by the church and renamed ‘Christmas’. But the Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit, that’s all remnants of pagan worship.”

“How do you know that? What are you gonna tell me next? Easter Bunny’s Jewish?”

Dean continued, “So you think we’re dealing with a Pagan God?”

“Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, God of the Winter Solstice.”

“And all these Martha Stewart wannabe’s, buying these fancy wreaths…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying, ‘Come kill us.’”

“Great.” You stood, thinking of the best way to flush out a God. The problem was, most of the time, they just looked like people. No reaction to silver, holy water, or even sunlight. Sam chuckling grabbed your attention. “When you sacrifice to Hold Nickar, guess what he gives you in return.”

“Lap dances, hopefully,” remarked Dean. “Mild weather.” You walked to the window and drew back the curtain, an idea crossing your mind. “Kinda like no snow during December in the middle of Michigan?”

“For instance.” You let the curtain fall as Dean sat and spoke. “We know how to kill it yet?”

“No, Bobby’s working on that right now. But in the mean time we should probably find the thing. In order to do that, we gotta figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

“You think they’re selling them on purpose? Feeding the victims to this thing?” You shrugged. It was an interesting theory…and an angle that you hadn’t examined yet. It brought you to the conclusion that the older Winchester wasn’t less intelligent, he just thought differently, and you could respect that.

The three of you walked into one of the two Christmas stores in the entire town. Taking the three steps to approach the counter, a homely man greeted you all. “Help you lot?” Dean spoke up, “Uh, hope so. Uh, we were playing jenga over at the Walshes the other night,” you took the queue and went to thread your arm through Dean’s when he continued, “and _he_ hasn’t shut up since about this Christmas wreath?” Dean placed his arm over Sam and you had to awkwardly maneuver your way into the next aisle to pretend to run your raised hand through your hair. The last thing you needed was to look like the girl pining for her gay best friend. “I don’t know. You tell him.” With a massive bitch face, Sam spat out his response. “Sure. It was yummy.” He was clearly taken aback as well. The man stared at the two boys and then to you, probably suspicious because, well, it _was_ the Midwest. Taking the cue, you walked away, pretending to inspect some tinsel, but listening and analyzing all the while. He raised his chin in his reply. “I sell a lot of wreaths, guys.”

“Right, right, but you see, this one would have been really special. It had, uh, it had, uh, green leaves, um, white buds on it. It might have been made of, uh, meadowsweet?” You sincerely hoped that this shopkeeper was not the God, because Sam couldn’t have marked you all as hunters any clearer. Luckily, his facial inflections showed no indication of familiarity with the substance, only remarkable annoyance. “Well…aren’t you a fussy one?” Sam’s face hardened and Dean laughed. “He is.” The clerk did not laugh. “Anyway, I know the one you’re talking about. I’m all out.” Considering the man was not pushing you three to buy, your suspicions that he was the creature faded. You took the moment to interrogate further. “Wow. Seems like this meadowsweet stuff’s rare and expensive. Why make wreaths out of it?”

“Beats me. I didn’t make them.”

“Who did?”

“Madge Carrigan—a local lady. Said the wreaths were so special, she gave them to me for free.” Sam raised a suspicion, “She didn’t charge you?”

“Nope.” It was Dean’s turn to ask a question. “Did you sell them for free?”

“Hell, no. It’s Christmas. People pay a buttload for this crap.”

“That’s the spirit.” Ignoring this man’s irreverent view of Christmas, the three of you walked out of the store. The second the door closed, Sam voiced what was really bugging him. “You know Dean, when Y/N’s on the case with us, you don’t have to do the gay thing.” He let out a laugh. “I know. It’s just funnier this way. Besides, it was a teachable moment. See Y/N/N, one of us starts something, the other goes along with it. It’s called working as a team.” You opened the Impala door, “Fine, Jesus, the next time you burst into song I’ll be sure to harmonize.” Dean gave you a smug smirk and you got into the car, door shutting behind you. There would be payback later, but you had work to do. Madge Carrigan may as well have had a neon sign saying, “I’m the God” on her front door.


	5. Playing The Part

The drive home was silent as the three of you mulled over this new information. Opening the door to the motel room, Dean voiced his thoughts. “How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?” Sam answered, “A couple hundred dollars, at least.”

“This Lady’s giving them away for _free?_ What do you think about that?” You laid your stuff on the floor next to the couch and grabbed some shower supplies with a sigh. “I think Gods don’t feel the need to be discreet,” you mentioned as you entered and shut the bathroom door. A silence filled the room as the shower turned on. However, you all had underestimated how thin motel walls were when you heard, “Remember that wreath dad brought home that one year?”, as clear as day. “You mean the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?”

“Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great.” You exhaled softly, amused because nothing screamed ‘Winchester’ like decorations made from beer cans. “I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.”

“All right…dude…what’s going on with you?”

“What?”

“I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden? Why do you want to do Christmas so bad?”

“Why are you so against it? Were your childhood memories that traumatic?”

“No, that has nothing to do with it.”

“Then, what?”

“I mean, I-I just—I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.”

“Well yeah. This is my last year.”…

No one said a word. With all the Gordon news and discovering new species, it had almost slipped your radar; Dean going to hell. None of you were any closer to finding a way out, and you had been spending your free time partying. Sure, you didn’t know the Winchester’s that well, but a ping of guilt settled in your gut. Sam broke the silence. “I know. That’s why I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay when I know next Christmas you’ll be dead.” That last sentence hurt, a lot more than you would have liked it to. You felt like you were just getting to know Dean, how his mind worked, and in a matter of months, it would mean nothing at all.

“I just can’t.”

That was the last thing that was said all night. You finished your shower and laid down. The three of you stayed wide awake, the excitement of Christmas talk long gone.

After a night of restless sleep, it was time to pay the Carrigans a visit. Sure, the Dean situation was out of your reach, but finding and killing a run-of-the-mill God was something you could control at the moment. Walking up to the doorway, Dean commented, “This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh? Can’t you just feel the evil pagan vibe?” You cleared your throat, “It looks like Christmas threw up out here.” Dean reached out and knocked on the festive door. An overly-cheerful woman opened it with a, “Yes?” It was your turn to play the con. You smiled, “Please tell me you’re the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths.”

“Why, yes, I am.”

“Oh wonderful! Well, we were just admiring some of your work in Mr. Sylar’s place the other day.”

“You were? Well isn’t that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?” Sam cut in, “It sure is. But, see the problem is, is all your wreaths had sold out before we got the chance to buy one.”

“Oh, fudge!” It was Dean’s turn to comment, “You wouldn’t happen to have one more that we could buy from you? My girlfriend and brother here wouldn’t stop talking about it all night.” You wrapped your arm around Dean’s and leaned your head on his shoulder, giving your best impression of Sam’s puppy-dog eyes. _See, I can play along if I need to._

“Oh, no, I’m afraid those were the only ones I had for this season.” Well, that didn’t add up. Unless there was some sort of limit for the sacrifices. You decided to question further. “Well, you have to tell me, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?”

“Why, the smell, of course! I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything finer.” You smiled but didn’t believe it for a second. No one is that cheery. Sam intervened. “Yeah, um, you mentioned that.” As he commented, a man looking like he walked straight out of Ward Cleaver’s closet approached the door behind Mrs. Claus. “What’s going on, honey?”

“Well, just a nice couple of folks asking about my wreaths, dear.”

“Oh, the wreaths are fine. Fine wreaths. Oh, care for some peanut brittle?” Was this some sort of Christmas T.V. special? Who talks like that? Dean reached out to take a piece when you grabbed his arm and stopped him. You had a strict ‘never accept food on a case’ rule that would really do the Winchesters some good to follow. “Oh, don’t forget honey, we’re going to my parents house for dinner, gotta save your appetite.” He glared at you but you simply smiled, smug in the fact that you probably just avoided a crisis. _You’re friggin’ welcome._

Later that day, you sat on the couch helping Dean widdle a few stakes. You set the most recently finished one next to you as you tied your hair up, wiping the tiniest bead of sweat from your brow. Sam clapping got the attention of everyone in the room. “I knew it! Something was way off with those two.” Dean lowered his knife, “You mean other than the fact that they were straight out of an ‘I Love Lucy’ episode?” Wow, the two of you may have thought differently, but you really quipped alike. “What’d you find?”

“The Carrigans lived in Seattle last year, where two abductions took place right around Christmas. They moved here in January. All that Christmas crap in their house wasn’t boughs of holly. It was vervain and mint.”

“Pagan stuff?” Dean questioned.

“Serious Pagan stuff.”

“So, what, Ozzie and Harriet are keeping a Pagan God hidden underneath their plastic-covered couch?”

“I don’t know. All I know is we got to check them out. So what about Bobby? He’s sure evergreen stakes will kill this thing, right?” You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time, confirming his text. “Yeah, he’s sure…Howard and Marion!” Both boys looked confused and taken aback. “Sorry, I was wracking my brain. One more 50’s couple and I win bingo.” Sam raised his hand, “Don’t celebrate quite yet, that show was set in the 50’s but it aired in 1974.” You stared blankly at him. “Why do you know that?” Sam smirked at you for the second time in the last twenty four hours, and you mirrored his amusement.


	6. Christmas With The Carrigans

Exiting the car, you zipped up your black jacket. There was nothing like a good old-fashioned B&E. You all approached the door and Sam and Dean made a path in order for you to pick the lock. You got the tiniest bit of satisfaction from the fact that they didn’t hesitate; they just knew that the responsibility of lock picking was ultimately always yours now. You had it open in seconds and looked around the room once more, noting everything that Sam had spotted earlier to be Pagan paraphernalia. You took two more steps into the house when Dean felt the need to comment, “See? Plastic.” Referring to the couch. You gave him a side eye and chastised, “Focus.” You walked into the kitchen to inspect the center piece, clearly made from mint and vervain. Sam broke your focus. “Hey, Y/N, Dean.” You walked over to the door next to the fridge to see it had been double locked. Taking your pick out once more, it swung open with a creak.

The smell is what hit you first. Clearly decaying bodies and/or parts were hidden down there. You didn’t even need the visual aid of the flashlight hitting a tub of what looked like vertebral columns. You held your breath and tried to breath through your mouth. You weren’t great with bad smells. Dead bodies you could handle, but there were also other…excrements in the room that were making you nauseous. Looking further around the room, you noticed there was blood and body parts everywhere. Guess you found your God. You bent down to take a look at a red Santa suit, stained in blood. Well, that’s one way to ruin Christmas.

_MMMMMMmmmMMM!!_

Screams and grunts turned your attention to the sack that had begun moving when Sam touched it. You saw Mrs. Carrigan behind Sam and heard Dean warn him, “Sam!” You pulled your stake and you and Dean stood, running to the rescue. Something grabbed your wrist and with lightning speed, slammed the stake against Dean’s head and with the other hand shoved yours against a nearby concrete column. Your vision went blurry and the last thing you saw was Dean already blacked out on the ground.

Slowly opening your eyes, the pounding on the side of your skull disoriented you. Although, you were sober enough to know that Sam and Dean were tied up in two chairs behind you and you were sitting on the floor, one arm tied to one leg of each of their respective chairs. You struggled against the ropes to test the integrity of the knot. Sadly, it didn’t budge. Sam must’ve felt you move, as he spoke up, “Guys? You okay?” Dean responded first, letting you know that he was awake as well, “Yeah, I think so.” You made your presence known as well, “For now.” Sam sighed, “So, I guess we’re dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God. Nice to know.”

“Yeah.” You heard footsteps coming around the corner until Madge and her husband appeared, just as cheery as ever. “Ooh, and here we thought you lazybones were gonna sleep through all the fun stuff.” Dean spat back, “Miss all this? Nah, we’re partyers.” You always preferred the silent approach to talking with monsters. Give them nothing and have more time to plan your escape. Mr. Carrigan responded to Dean’s comment, “Isn’t he a kick in the pants, honey? You’re hunters is what you are.” He stood over you, looking down hungrily.

“And you’re Pagan Gods. So, why don’t we just call it even and go our separate ways?”

“What, so you can bring back more hunters and kill us? (He chuckled) I don’t think so!” Sam decided to open his mouth too, giving you the noise cover to pop the button on the pocket that your pick resided in. “You should have thought about that before you went snacking on humans.” You began to saw at the ropes. “Oh, now, don’t get all wet.” Madge intervened, “Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year. And that’s a fact. Now what do we take? What, two? Three?”

“The Mod Squad here makes six.”

“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?”

You scoffed as Sam answered, “Well, you say it like that, you guys are the Cunninghams.”

“You, mister, better show us a little respect,”

“Or what? You’ll eat us?”

“Not so fast. There’s rituals to be followed first.” Madge bent down to your level. “Oh, we’re just sticklers for ritual.”

“And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?” Dean answered, “Let me guess—meadowsweet. Oh, shucks—you’re all out of wreaths. I guess we’ll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus. There.” At this point, Madge had laid makeshift wreaths of meadowsweet over all of your necks. “Don’t they just look _darling_?”

“Good enough to eat.” Replied her husband. The three of you all looked at him with (you assumed) the same amount of disgust. “All righty-roo. Step number two.” He had walked towards Sam with a knife and a bowl. _That can’t be good._ Dean began to sweat. “Sammy!” You felt Sam struggle to your right, only assuming that blood was being drawn against Sam’s protests of, “D-Don’t!” Hearing his brother in peril, Dean also began to yell. “Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!” You knew yelling was useless. “Hear how they talk to us? To Gods? Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions.”

“Times have changed!”

“Tell _me_ about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our altars are being burned down, and we’re being hunted down like common monsters.” Madge joined in their pity fest, “But did we say a peep? Oh, no, no, no we did not. Two millennium. We kept a low profile. We got jobs, a mortgage. We—what was that word, dear?”

“We assimilated.”

“Yeah, we assimilated. Why, we play bridge on Tuesdays and Fridays. We’re just like everybody else.” Dean took the bait, “You’re not blending in as smooth as you think, lady.” She walked over to him, completely ignoring his previous statement, “This might pinch a bit, dear.” _Snap!_ You had finally gotten one row of rope undone just as Dean was sliced, “Ahh, you bitch!”

“Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar. Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing? ‘Fudge.’”

“I’ll try and remember that!” He managed to squeak out. Madge turned to you. “You’re turn dear.” You weren’t stupid, you figured at some point you were gonna get sliced, though Dean certainly wasn’t counting on it. “You fudging touch her and I’ll fudging kill ya!” Madge giggled and bent down, drawing the rather dull blade across your shoulder. “Very good.” You didn’t want to give her a reaction, but you also couldn’t help the _hiss_ that escaped your lips. Edward walked over, “The three of you should feel lucky. There was a time when kids came from miles around just to be sitting where you are.” You really didn’t want to know what he was planning to do with the pliers as he stopped in front of Sam. “What do you think you’re doing with those?” Sam asked, the fear evident in his voice. As Edward drew closer, Sam panicked, “No, don’t.” You heard Sam scream and could only imagine what was happening. _Snap!_ The second layer was undone, now for the knot itself. You heard a clank, and knew that Edward had ripped Sam’s fingernail right off. You couldn’t think about that now, not without literally throwing up at least. “Oh, we’ve got a winner!” Madge clapped and walked over to the counter, “What else, dear?” You were really trying with the knot now. You could handle a tiny slice and some blood, but take out a fingernail or an eye, and you were gonna blow chunks. “Well, let’s see. Uh, fingernail, blood…huh, sweet Peter on a popsicle stick. Heh, I forgot the tooth!” _Nope. Just no._ “Oh, dear.” Madge laughed with him. You were really sawing at the knot now. Dean must’ve felt the struggle, as he commented, “Merry Christmas, guys.” Sam moaned in response and you yanked at the rope, testing to see if you could break it at this point. No luck. You heard Edward’s footsteps and actually began to panic yourself. You liked your teeth, ALL of them. He stopped in front of Dean and you felt a bit guilty at the relief you experienced. “Open wide…and say, ‘ahh.’” You heard Dean moan and dear god, if you heard the tooth ripped out by the roots, you were upchucking in .2 seconds.

_Ding Dong!_

Saved by the bell…literally. The pliers were in Dean’s mouth at this point and he said (muffled), “Somebody gonna get that?” The doorbell rang once more. “You should get that.” _Snap!_ The knot had finally given and your hands were free. The timing could not have been more perfect as the Carrigans left to answer the door. The second they were out of sight, you stood and grabbed both knives from the kitchen island, passing one to Dean and cutting Sam out yourself. You stared at his bloody finger and willed yourself to push through it. _Not the time._

The three of you sprung into action. Sam and Dean manned one door while you hid behind the corner, the three of you slamming and trapping the Carrigans into the kitchen for the time being. You felt a hard slam on the door behind you as you struggled to keep it closed. The pounding continued as Sam and Dean opened a drawer to keep their door closed. Running to you, Dean yelled, “What do we do now? The evergreen stake’s in the basement!” Sam responded, helping you push against the Carrigans, “Well, we need more evergreen, Dean!” You looked around the room, “Hold the door, I gotta plan B.” The two boys looked to their left and each grabbed a side of the wooden hutch to drag in front of the entryway. You leapt over the plastic covered couch to approach the perfectly decorated Christmas tree. With one shove, the entire thing was on the floor and you had one branch over your knee, ready to snap into a stake. _Well, that was oddly satisfying._ The guys took the hint and once the access point was secured, ran over and copied your movements. Looking over to the hutch, you noticed a distinct lack of pounding, sending you on high alert. You all stood in the center of the room, tense due to the eerie silence.

“Aahhh!!” Edward had run towards Dean, tackling him to the ground. You turned around, expecting Madge very shortly. She appeared through the hallway closest to Sam. “You little thing…” After a creepy laugh and a threatening disfigurement of her face, she continued, “I loved that tree.” Sam readied himself, but after one swing to the face, he was down. Immediately stepping in, you took your stake and swung it cracking over her skull, successfully knocking her to the ground. Once she was incapacitated, you wasted no time in plunging the branch straight into her heart, Edward yelling towards the both of you, “MADGE!” While, he was distracted, Dean used the same tactic and whacked Edward, sending him off of their current entanglement and right into the pointy end of the other branch. Missing the first time, Dean had to once more stab Edward, his yelling tapering out as he was laid next to his partner.

The three of you stood there panting, amazed that you had taken down both Gods. You dropped the branch and watched it hit the floor, your gaze once more landing on Sam’s nail-less finger. Without warning, you heaved and turned to throw up, both boys looking at you with concern. Getting it together, you lifted your hand, “I’m good. We’re good. God bless us, every one.”


	7. Sweet In Our Own Ways

You hung the last row of gas station garland on the motel wall when you heard the Impala pull in. Everyone had been bandaged up and Dean went out to get some refreshments. It was quite the ordeal when Sam approached you and practically begged you to get on board with giving Dean a real last minute Christmas. It didn’t take much convincing, like you said, you really actually enjoyed Christmas and you were already planning to give both boys gifts.

You heard the keys jingle and the door swing open to reveal the older Winchester, surprise painted all over his face. Sam greeted him, “Hey. You get the beer?”

“What’s all this?”

“What do you think it is? It’s—It’s Christmas.” There was a brief silence while Dean took in the room. You smiled softly as his eyes roamed over the decor. “What made you change your mind?” Sam sighed uncomfortably, “Here, uh…try the eggnog. Let me know if it needs some more kick.” You honestly doubted it would, you were in charge of that refreshment and it was flammable. He clearly noticed as Dean coughed, laughing a bit, “No, we’re good.” You smirked. “You’re welcome.” Sam chuckled, “Well, uh, have a seat. Let’s do Christmas stuff or whatever.”

“All right, first thing’s first.” He began to unpack the gas n’ go bag and passed two things to you and Sam. “Merry Christmas guys.” You bit your lip, “Well, great minds must think alike, I did a bit of shopping as well.” Going to your duffel you grabbed the two packages and handed them to the boys. As Sam grabbed his gift, he pulled out two artifacts as well, wrapped in today’s newspaper. “Guess we’re all smart then. There you go.” The three of you sat there, each holding two gifts. Sam looked to you, “Well, ladies first.” You gave him a weary look as you ripped the Sunday comics. Finding a single piece of paper, you unfolded it, letting out a comical exhale at what you saw. “I didn’t have time to actually get the thing, but it should arrive at Bobby’s in two days.” A sticker. An actual Jurassic Park sticker for your jeep. “You think you’re funny?” You asked endearingly.

“I guess a little.”

“Well, you are. I kinda love it.” You turned the paper to show Dean, who let out a hearty laugh. “I have never been more proud of you Sammy. Big brother is finally rubbing off. Open mine next.” You looked down at the package wrapped neatly in your lap. You delicately ripped the brown paper sacs that had been taped together and opened the plastic box. You furrowed your brow. Lifting it by the straps, you raised a red satin bra from the tissue paper. Sam spat out his eggnog. “Dude, what the hell?” Dean’s face twisted in disappointment. “Uh, it was supposed to be sweet. Y’know, since Bella stole yours and all? Didn’t mean it creepy,” he said to the floor sheepishly. You turned towards him, touched, “No, uh, actually in a twisted way I see what you meant.” The two of you shared a small smile. “One question though…how did you know my exact bra size?” He smirked, “I have many talents.” You rolled your eyes and set your gifts aside, secretly loving both of them. “Alright, Sam, you’re up.” He took the heavy stack that had been neatly wrapped by you and tore into it. “No way! The entire box set of Harry Potter! That’s awesome! Thanks Y/N!” You smiled slightly, “They were mine in high school. You tell anyone I like them and I’ll deny it.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He turned and unwrapped Dean’s gift. “Yeah! Skin mags! And…shaving cream!”

“You like? I mean it’s no nerd bible, but I did what I could.”

“I love it. Alright man, it’s all you.” Dean tore into your gift first. “No way! Metallica’s _Ride The Lightning_ on vinyl! You’ve officially bought yourself a shotgun seat pass.”

“I think I’ll save it for a rainy day. Glad you like it.” He looked up and smiled at you like…well, like a kid on Christmas. Putting your gift to his right, he unwrapped Sam’s gift as well, laughing as he pulled it out. “Look at this—fuel for me and fuel for my baby. These are awesome. Thanks, both of you.” Sam smiled, “Good,” and you simply nodded your head. Dean lifted his plastic cup, “Merry Christmas.” Sam scrambled, “Yeah, yeah. Here, Merry Christmas.” You lifted your drink as well, “Merry Christmas.” The cups touched and the three of you downed the alcohol, the thought of Dean’s impending future weighing on you. Sam broke the silence, “Hey, Dean.” He sighed, not saying what he really wanted to. “Feel like watching the game?”

“Absolutely.” Sports weren’t really your thing, but the warm fuzzy feeling inside from being with these guys was winning over every other urge. You playfully shoved Dean’s head as you walked behind the boys to the kitchen. “I’ll make popcorn…” They both smiled brightly at you.


End file.
